He was about to look away, let out a whooping cheer, and slap young Jimmy on the back, when a second object entered the display, hot on the heels of the remaining herring. But this wasn’t some speckled cloud of fish; it was solid. The object undulated into view, and as Jack estimated its size, he ruled out one creature after another.
Fifty feet…not the pilot, minke, or ray…
Sixty feet. He ruled out the humpbacks.
Seventy feet. Not a sperm whale, which had been his guess.
As the object continued to enter the viewfinder, he knew it was a blue whale. They grew to a maximum size of 110 feet. They were the largest living creature ever to grace the planet earth throughout its entire history. Nothing was bigger.
And yet, as this creature passed the 110-foot mark, then the 120-foot…140…150…he knew that the blue whale had been usurped as the ocean’s king. Jack suddenly realized the creature was coming for the herring and wasn’t slowing down. The Ragnarok would be obliterated. For a millisecond, Jack thought of ordering the nets cut loose, but it was too late. The behemoth had reached the nets, but at the last possible moment dived deep. It was amazingly agile for something so massive, and quicker than it had arrived, it disappeared from the hydrosonic display, as though it had never been.
Jack glanced to his side and saw Jimmy’s wide eyes and slack jaw. “Hell of a thing ain’t it, kid.”
Jimmy nodded. “Should…shouldn’t we tell someone?”
“Who would believe us?”
Cheers rose up from around the boat. Jack looked out the window and saw the ocean frothing with fish as the first net was brought up. The winches creaked under the strain, but were holding. It was the largest catch Jack had ever seen and that was only the first of two nets. Jack placed the cigar, which he’d been holding tightly the whole time, back in his mouth and took a puff. It tasted delightful.
He turned back to Jimmy. “The sea giveth and the sea taketh away. Just be thankful she was in a giving mood today and move on. Questioning things just invites trouble.” Jack nodded to the hydroacoustic screen. “And that kind of trouble is something we don’t want. Understand?”
Jimmy nodded.
“Good. Consider yourself promoted.” Jack opened the bridge door to a blast of fresh ocean air and the hoots and hollers of his gleeful crew, who, except for young Jimmy, would never know just how close they’d all come to being Hollywood’s next exploited sea tragedy. “All right,” Jack shouted, “get these fish on board double time! We’re heading home!”
The men cheered. They’d been at sea for weeks and missed their families. But a joyful homecoming wasn’t what spurred Jack’s urgency to get home. Rather, for the first time in his life, he wanted to get off the water and onto solid ground.
4
Portsmouth, New Hampshire
She knew the men behind her had been following closely for two blocks, maybe longer, mimicking every turn, every pause. Giona could smell the tobacco from the cigarettes they lit, three each in the last ten minutes. Probably nervous. She could also hear their shuffled footfalls on the centuries-old brick sidewalks. Portsmouth was an old town, one of the original East Coast ports and home of the Portsmouth Navy Yard-also home to sound-conductive sidewalks and a few less-than-honest residents.
She wasn’t sure exactly how long they’d been following her. She’d been engaged with her “inner voice,” as she liked to call her. It was her private devil’s advocate, conjured up by her mind when there was no one else to talk to, and had recently become a mainstay in her thought processes. Some people might call it a conscience, but it only seemed to appear with certain subjects, and none were moral questions. While she totally disagreed with the opinions of her “inner voice,” it at least helped her firm up her opinions on issues she faced. She knew it was weird, but she didn’t have a ton of people to talk to.
Since her mom died, she’d rarely talked to anyone, including her father. He was nice enough. A good guy. Kind. Loving. Smart. She admired him and his work. Not all girls have an ex-Navy SEAL-turned-oceanographer for a father. But the day he’d come home from the hospital, eyes burnt red from crying, and just looked at her with those sad eyes, she knew two things. Her mother was dead, and she wouldn’t let herself get that close to anyone every again. Not even her father. And to let the world know to stay away, she changed everything about herself.
Her colorful wardrobe disappeared, replaced by black ill-fitting clothes purchased at the Salvation Army. She knew that might not be enough to keep everyone at bay, so she accentuated the black by dyeing her hair a variety of colors. The ridiculous number of silver bracelets on her wrists, the black-and-white-striped stockings she wore, and the piercings in her eyebrow, nose, and ears completed the look and achieved her desired goaclass="underline" solitude. The only people inclined to spend any time with her were fellow recluses, who similarly had little use for close relationships.
Though she would never admit it, loneliness had become a problem; but she ignored it, fought against it, unwilling to suffer the loss that would eventually come. A few months ago, the “inner voice” had emerged. She knew the voice was slightly insane, borderline schizophrenic, but she didn’t care. It didn’t tell her to do things. Instead it spoke with her-argued with her, really-and oddly enough instilled a sense of peace in her; she wasn’t totally alone anymore. The one drawback was that she became oblivious to the outside world when arguing internally. She’d been distracted enough that the two guys had got within twenty feet of her and, if she hadn’t been snapped out of her thought processes by their overpowering odor, they could’ve snuck up right behind her with ease.
She had yet to look back at the two men following her. She didn’t want them to realize she was aware of their presence. But she could narrow down their identities to a handful of people. She’d met many unsavory people in the last year, socializing with large groups of teens who hung around downtown. Most were rich kids playing tough, wearing ratty clothes while clutching their iPods and smoking pot. But a few were the real deal, nasty people best to be avoided-something Giona typically excelled at. But friends of friends had made introductions, and she’d found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time.
To look at her, with her purple-dyed hair, jet-black clothes, and array of ear piercings, she fit right in. But her pleasant smile and charming wit set her apart. More than that, her genius-level intelligence allowed her to talk her way out of trouble. It was her stance on drugs that really made her stand out. She was well-known for attending antidrug meetings at the high school. While many of her in-town friends were petitioning their local senators to legalize marijuana, she was testifying before a New Hampshire Senate subcommittee about how it, and even alcohol, should be banned. She wasn’t a Holy Roller or ex-user, just someone who had seen too many friends’ crisp minds rot and slow. Conversations that once involved quantum singularities or deep-sea creatures instead focused on Zippo lighters, Twinkies, bowl-packing procedure, and who had taken a hit from the longest bong.
Her friends had tolerated, even encouraged, Giona’s antidrug crusade-drug users were easily impressed with anyone doing something more than sitting on a couch. One had even said with a slur, “You even think about…doin’ drugs…and I’ll kick your ass.”